


new storms for older lovers

by endlessnighttimesky



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post Season 3 Finale, Tattoos, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnighttimesky/pseuds/endlessnighttimesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It used to eat away at him, the lurking knowledge in the back of his mind that maybe Mickey would never change, but after all of this, Ian only finds it comforting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	new storms for older lovers

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday present for Raquel, also known as the asshole who got me into this fucking show and in doing so indirectly broke my heart. I would hate you if I didn't love you so fucking much. Happy birthday, baby. <3
> 
> Title by La Dispute.

They're in Mickey's room when Ian first sees them, the letters nestled barely an inch from his hip bone, all black and so small they're practically nothing but a smudge.

From above him, Mickey's voice comes, no softer than it usually is, but breathier. ”Say one damn word and I’ll slit your fuckin’ throat while you sleep."

Looking up, Ian grins at him. He can’t help it - his heart just swelled three sizes inside his chest and it's so stupid, he _knows_  that, but he's never been smart when it comes to Mickey.

"You know this could get you killed, right?"

"It's gonna get _you_ killed if you don't shut the fuck up about it."

Brushing his thumb over the letters, Ian watches with fascination as they pull and drag with every movement of Mickey's skin. "Did it hurt?"

"Stab yourself with a needle and see what you think," Mickey spits, and then lower, almost to himself, "'Course it fuckin' did.”

Ian doesn't know if they're talking about the tattoo anymore, but he figures it doesn't really matter. He'd apologize until he lost his voice if it made anything better, but it won't, so he just lets Mickey bite at the curve of his shoulder and dig his nails into his hips, because it's pretty much the same thing, anyway.

”How long ago?” Ian mumbles against Mickey’s skin, voice muffled as he presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to his stomach, reveling in the way it makes Mickey squirm under his hands.

”Are you gonna keep asking me stupid questions or are you gonna get on me?”

At that, Ian just lifts his gaze and looks at Mickey, who stares back for a few tense seconds before rolling his eyes and dropping his head back onto the pillow beneath it.

”A few months,” Mickey mutters reluctantly. He’s avoiding Ian’s eyes, staring at the ceiling, but when Ian moves up to straddle him a hand comes to rest on his hip almost automatically, a conscious point of contact that makes Ian smile a little.

”Hey,” he says and reaches out, cupping Mickey’s jaw in his hand as he leans down to kiss him, soft and chaste. ”Thanks.”

On Ian’s hip, Mickey’s hand clenches. ”I didn’t - ”

”Yeah, no, I know,” Ian mumbles, kissing along Mickey’s jaw and down his neck. ”Still,” he says into the dip above his collarbone. ”Thank you.”

To that, Mickey doesn’t reply, just curls his hand around the back of Ian’s neck and brings his face up for another kiss, deeper this time.

Ian’s grinning when they break away. ”So that’s how it is, then?”

Against his better judgment, Mickey grins too. ”Fuck yeah,” he says, pushing at Ian’s chest. ”C’mon, s’been months.”

”Missed me?” Ian asks, glancing up when Mickey tenses.

After a few seconds of silence, Mickey sighs, but he sounds more relieved than tired. ”Yeah,” he says.

Ian can’t really believe what he’s hearing, but if he makes a big thing out of it, Mickey’s never gonna say it again, so he just leans down and kisses him one more time.

”I missed you too.”

§ § §

Afterwards, when they’re both warm and sweaty and panting, Ian can’t help but let his hand drift down to Mickey’s hip. Brushing his fingers over the skin, he likes to imagine he can feel the ink against his fingertips, even though it’s all healed and as smooth as ever. It makes him wonder exactly how old it is, how many days he’d been gone when Mickey decided to get his initials permanently inked onto his skin.

He doesn’t ask, though, because it’d just be a waste of breath. Mickey’s been different ever since he came back, and he did admit to missing Ian, but despite the time they’ve lost, Ian still knows that some things will never change. It used to eat away at him, the lurking knowledge in the back of his mind that maybe Mickey would never change, but after all of this, he only finds it comforting. Stability has always been a scarce commodity in his life, and even more so in Mickey’s, so sometimes it’s just nice to know that certain things, no matter how few they might be, will always be the way they’ve been.

Rolling onto his side, Ian throws an arm over Mickey's chest and buries his face in his neck, reveling in the familiar scent of Mickey's cologne.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles after a few minutes of listening to Mickey's breathing, deep and even. His voice is muffled against Mickey's skin, and for a moment he thinks that maybe Mickey didn't hear, or he's already asleep, but then his chest moves under Ian's hand, voice rough but quiet as he says, ”Quit fuckin' apologizing and go the fuck to sleep."

Ian sighs. "Mick - "

"One more word and you're sleepin' on the floor," Mickey mutters, rolling over so he's facing away from Ian. He doesn't protest when Ian follows, just shivers a little when Ian presses a kiss to the back of his neck, dry and so soft it might not even be real. Everything feels strangely hazy, dark and cool in the late January night, like maybe this is just another dream.

”I hated myself for leaving,” Ian says into Mickey’s hair, so low the words are barely discernible, and there’s something in his voice that makes Mickey’s mind go blank when he tries to come up with another way of getting Ian to shut up, because his previous tactics obviously hasn’t been working. After a minute, though, he realizes that Ian wouldn’t have said anything more unless it was important, unless he wanted Mickey to _know_  - and it’s confusing because Ian has always acted as if Mickey has something to offer him, something else than a steady supply of weed or booze or violence. Like Mickey is somehow worth all the secrets and the pain and the beatings and the heartbreak - because none of this has ever been easy. Nothing ever is, for either of them.

When Ian realizes that Mickey isn’t going to say anything, isn’t going to shove him out of bed or threaten him again, he releases the breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, heat seeping slow and steady across Mickey’s skin.

”I think - or I thought, anyway, that if anyone would get it, it’d be you.” There’s still that edge in his voice, like he’s still not sure Mickey won’t just get up and disappear into the night. ”But then again, maybe I should stop making assumptions. Especially about you.”

A few silent moments pass as Mickey thinks back to that day, months ago now, and the words get stuck in his throat just like they did back then.

”Except you do, don’t you?” Ian mumbles. ”You do get it.”

Mickey still doesn’t know what to say - words were never his strong suit, and Ian knows that better than anyone, but he still looks surprised when Mickey turns over in his arms. The expression doesn’t last long, though, because before he knows it Mickey’s kissing him, deep yet soft, as if to make up for something, one hand coming up to curl around his jaw, keeping Ian close.

”Who are you and what the fuck did you do to my Mick?” Ian asks once he’s caught his breath, trying to hide his grin and failing spectacularly.

”Fuck off,” Mickey says, shoving at Ian’s chest. ”See if I ever do that again. And your Mick, what the fuck.”

”Got my name on you now,” Ian mumbles, sounding so smug that Mickey’s having a hard time keeping himself from socking him in the jaw. ”If that doesn’t mean you’re mine, I don’t know what does.”

”Fuck you is what it means,” Mickey mutters, rolling over onto his side again.

”Glad to see some things are still the way they used to,” Ian mumbles to himself, throwing his arm back over Mickey’s waist.

”Shit’s been the same here since I was born,” Mickey mumbles, already sounding half-asleep. "I wouldn’t expect it to change anytime soon.”

There used to be a time when that thought scared the shit out of Ian, but right now, it only feels comforting. ”Yeah, probably.”

”Definitely,” Mickey insists.

Ian smiles. If that’s not a promise, he doesn’t know what is.


End file.
